Heather
by SauvignonFierce
Summary: Rossi reflects on his bond with Ashley Seaver.


"Dave," Hotch said, knocking on the slightly open door to the older agents office and stepping inside. Rossi looked up from his piles of paperwork. "You look tired," Hotch commented.

"You're one to talk." He closed the file in front of him and leaned back in his chair. "Do we have a case?" Hotch shook his head and sat down across the desk.

"No, no case for once."

"Then why do you look so serious?" Hotch held out an envelope. It was addressed to "D. Rossi" and the return address said "A. Seaver." Rossi smiled and took the envelope.

"We haven't heard from her in a while." Hotch said as Rossi carefully opened the seal.

"You haven't heard from her in a while. We keep in touch."

"You do?"

"The occasional lunch when we can manage. She says Andi's keeping her pretty busy." Hotch smiled.

Rossi looked at the contents of the envelope. There was a letter with what looked like a picture taped to it, but Hotch couldn't see what it was. Rossi smiled as he read the words.

"How is she?" Hotch asked. He didn't mean at work, he didn't mean how was Andy treating her, he wanted to know how she was. How working around killers was affecting her. And Rossi knew that's what he meant.

"She's doing okay," he said.

"I didn't realize you two were so close."

"After the case in New Mexico, she told me a story. She told me she'd once brought home a puppy and her father had killed it." Rossi paused.

"He was a psychopath, Dave."

"I know, and she knew. But she said that after everything he did, all the women he killed, she could never hate him. He was her father, he tucked her into bed at night, probably even read her stories, and that's the side of him she knew. And she told me that she was afraid he was winning, because she still loved him. I told her it's not that simple."

"You said the right thing," Hotch said. Rossi nodded, looking at the letter.

"I know. It got to me though. After so many years of arresting guys like her father, interviewing them, dissecting their every move, every crime they committed...I never thought about their families. I knew they existed. Fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, brothers, kids…I just thought they'd be as cruel to them as they were to their victims, no matter what they said."

"Dave, you know that isn't how they profile."

"I know. I know they're adept at fooling people, especially those close to them. But that doesn't change how I felt. When I met Ashley, and when she told me what her father had done to her dog…I couldn't get past it. Seeing her, how strong and well adjusted she was, it impressed me."

"She impressed all of us. She's a highly talented agent."

"I couldn't help thinking how scarred she must be, inside. We see victims, we get their letters, we understand their killers, but the children of the killers? We don't ever think about them. With Ashley…" Dave trailed off, brows furrowed together.

"Dave, what's wrong?" Hotch leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at his friend and co-worker.

"She lost her father, Hotch. We forget that sometimes. He was a monster, but he was her father and nothing can change that."

"Dave, is this because of…" he trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud. Rossi smiled slightly.

"Ashley lost her father and I lost my son. I feel for her, I really do."

"She appreciates it, you know. You caring about her like a father. You could see it when you two talked together." Dave smiled again, a little broader this time.

He passed the letter to Hotch. The picture taped below her words was of her and a black and white collie. Ashley was smiling widely, her arms wrapped around the dogs neck, its tongue hanging out of its mouth happily in the arms of its owner.

"You bought her a dog," Hotch said, smiling.

"She named her Heather, after the little girl in New Mexico." Hotch passed the letter back and stood up.

"Call her," he instructed. "Tell her I say hi." Dave nodded and picked up the phone, the picture balanced against the base of the lamp.


End file.
